Perchance to Dream
by TisTheEast
Summary: All Jackson wants is a night of rest, but sleep doesn't come easily for the American.


**Author's Note:** _This began as a followup to "The King Came Calling" (episode 1x03), but soon took on a life of its own. I envision it taking place sometime between "In My Protection" (1x02) and "A Man of My Company" (1x07) as during that period I feel like Susan and Jackson were very slowly learning to attempt to get along with each other. Enjoy!_

**Disclaimer:**_ They're not mine. If only they were..._

Even at his drunkest, Jackson didn't find the stairs up to his room at 22 Tetner Street particularly daunting. Tonight, however, he was beat, and the staircase seemed to last for an eternity. It was much earlier than he usually chose to stumble home, but considering that he had been awoken from the depths of a bottle by Sgt. Drake nearly 36 hours ago and had spent the subsequent time working nonstop to help Inspector Reid determine the key to a minister's untimely demise, all the American hoped for was his room, a pillow and dreamless sleep.

"Captain Jackson, you're a sight for sore eyes," said Rose sidling up next to him on the staircase.

"And you're always a welcome sight, dear," Jackson replied not halting his ascent.

"Fancy some company tonight?" She touched his upper arm as he'd often seen her do with the house's gentleman callers. Jackson glanced downstairs, fully expecting the lady of the house to scold both of them and demand that Rose keep her attention on the paying customers.

"No, Rose, as appealing as that does sound, I think I'll be fine on my own this evening."

"You're sure?" She looked surprised, maybe even a little hurt.

Jackson nodded. "Besides, your mistress would have my head for keeping you occupied for another evening."

"Suit yourself." Rose turned and made her way back downstairs.

Once in his room, Jackson managed to kick off his boots, drop his sachel on the floor and removed his shirt and vest before flopping onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling, just exhausted enough to make even the task of falling asleep a challenge. He contemplated rooting around for the bottle of Scotch he knew he had stashed somewhere. Then he considered dragging himself down the hall to Susan's chambers where he knew exactly where to find a bottle of the fine Irish whiskey she'd developed a taste for during their brief but memorable tear through Dublin. He could already taste it on his lips and his imagination didn't have to stretch far to taste her as well.

He groaned. Therein was the problem plaguing his sleep for far too long. To sleep unaided by a bottle was to dream, and to dream was to only dream of her and of their happier times together. But tonight he had to be tired enough to let his body rest without visions of golden hair and those striking eyes. He was Captain Homer Jackson, dammit, and he was going to go to sleep.

Jackson's eyes were closed only a moment when he heard the door open and the rustle of skirts.

"Rose, I know you mean well," Jackson began.

"Rose is occupied for the evening," said Susan closing the door behind her. She approached the bed. "And I see that your dear Inspector Reid has finally released you from his clutches."

"I was working, Susan, not locked up," Jackson said not bothering to open his eyes for he knew the expression she was wearing. He knew he should stop there, but he couldn't resist continuing. "Besides, I'd reckon you'd be happy to be free of me."

She set something on the bedside table. "I suppose it is reassuring. If you're working with them, they're less like to arrest you. Simply scrap you out of the gutter, dust you off and put you to work. Pity I didn't think of it that."

Jackson opened his eyes. "Are you finished?"

Susan sat on the edge of bed, and Jackson sighed. Of course she wasn't finished. Susan had to have the last word and the five that followed. It was a trait they shared and a tactic they regularly employed against each other.

"We'll both be finished if you aren't more cautious." Susan handed him the teacup from the bedside table. "Now drink this."

"If you've finally gotten up the nerve to poison me, at least do me the decency of making it a surprise." Jackson sipped the chamomile tea. "Darlin' I'm not going to lie, I appreciate the attention, but there's something you're not telling me."

Susan was quiet for moment. "When we left New York, you would go for days without rest. When you did finally sleep, it was as if your mind was still working twelve steps ahead. You would sometimes wake me up reciting our travel plans in your sleep."

"From what I recall, that wasn't the only reason you were up all night," Jackson said taking another sip of tea.

Susan wasn't a woman prone to blushing; the ghost of a smile that graced her lips was all he needed to know that she did indeed remember those nights well. She leaned forward and began massaging his temples, saying in a firm but gentle tone, "Nonetheless, it seems only a matter of a time before something slips, some piece of information in a moment of exhaustion. From what I know of Inspector Reid, it wouldn't take much for him to piece things together."

"I'll be careful," Jackson said closing his eyes at her touch. "And even if something slips, I trust Reid enough not to act on that information without confronting me first."

"I'd prefer it if I could trust you."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Jackson could feel himself drifting off to sleep when there was another knock at his door.

"Sorry to bother, Captain Jackson," Rose called through the door. "But have you seen Miss Susan? There's gentleman downstairs with a question for her."

"I'll be right down, Rose," Susan called, recognizing the girl's meaning: someone was quibbling over price.

As she stood up, Jackson caught her hand and gave her a questioning look.

She squeezed his hand for a fraction of a second, "Nothing I can't handle. Sleep well."

And for the first time in weeks, he did.


End file.
